Yesterday we awakened to transformation. Overnight, our familiar outdoor world turned from brown to white, blanketed with pristine snow.
It changed us.
My son-in-law chose to take transit to work rather than ride his bike – not because it was too snowy or cold to take his bike but because his lived experience told him motorists need at least one day to remember how to adjust their driving habits when snow makes its first seasonal appearance.
When my daughter and I dropped off my 2-year-old granddaughter Ebba at her preschool, things had changed there too. The outdoor play space had been transfigured into luminous unblemished surfaces for mark-making. Every surface above and below our feet called to the children to leave traces of themselves in partnership with nature. Ebba made footprints in the snow with her boots. She dragged her mitts across window ledges to create lines. She marvelled at how the powdery whiteness lingered on the palms of her mittens. She scrunched the snow, creating small chunks that fell to the ground differently than the snowflakes landing on her snowsuit.
At the end of the day, when Ebba realized her stroller had been replaced by a sled for her journey home, she was thrilled. She didn’t want to arrive home and leave the wonder of the outdoors. Instead, she wanted to experience her world afresh from the vantage point of her sled – the wind on her cheeks, the bumpiness of the ground beneath her, the modulating sounds of her sled on soft snow, ice, and sanded paths. She wanted to experience her body skimming quickly across the snow, her centre of gravity shifting as she was pulled around corners, and the way her world looked and felt as she was pulled up and then down small hills.
Observing Ebba’s engagement with nature is a gift to me. As an adult, educator, and human I value her perceptions and fascination with the natural world. Her joy in discovering the beauty, possibilities and wonder of snow reminds me to look for the surprises and insights nature holds out to me in silent, steadfast ways. Her joy grounds me in the certainty that my sense of place and belonging grows stronger when I recognize the natural world as a cherished friend.
Ann Pelo expresses similar thoughts about the power of seeing familiar places with new eyes.
“Living in a place over time can breed a sense of familiarity, and familiarity can easily slip into a belief that we’ve got the land figured out. We stop expecting to be surprised, to be jolted into new ways of seeing; we become detached from the vitality of a place…. Our challenge is to see with new eyes, to look at the familiar as though we’re seeing it for the first time. When we look closely and allow ourselves to be surprised by unexpected details and new insights, we develop an authenticity and humility in our experience of place, and wake up to its mysteries and delights.”
Ann Pelo, A Pedagogy for Ecology
Today fresh snow has fallen. The land at home and at preschool is once again an unmarked page inviting Ebba to write a new adventure, and to share her love of Earth’s mysteries and delights with us.
Her sled is at the ready for her pickup from preschool tonight… and I can hardly wait.